You don't like to cross my gaze
by ragnhildur
Summary: little snippet story where nothing really happens. badou is in a hotel with someone, no communication, however..? could possibly expand. enjoy ; Rated T for some language.


_Listening to 9mm parabellum bullet – the world, and looking at pictures of badou nails to re-establish my floundering love with DOGS seems to be working. Shall i begin a few lines to describe what i feel when i look at you?_

Spread across the tatty covers of the bed, springs creak with every shift of his weight. I don't think he's noticed me looking, from across the room, my eyes half open, lids fluttering with the attempt to stay awake. This is a rare moment, my being with him. I make my breathing heavy, hoping that he'll interpret it as a sigh emerging from the depths of slumber. I turn around, the couch arm an uncomfortable perch for my neck. His skin is so pale, his hair fucking shines against it – a feat in itself, as it it less than glorious looking. How can he be so unbelieveably, in-your-face _ginger_ ; it astonishes me. He's tall. His feet flap over the side of the bed like dead fish, heavy. But the sinew and muscle curl, the flex of his toes, betray an elegance you would not expect from a filthy piece of shit like him. The fray of his jeans grazes his bony ankles – i am at eye level to them, to look up any further is a strain. I'm not fucking bothered...really? Yeah. _Yeah. _Alright then – I shift my head once more, pretence of sleep abandoned as I go to grab a cigarette from his crumpled pack. I bought them, so he can't say shit about it – but he's not paying attention, his head against his arm as he looks out of the window onto the skyline. The sky is burning, the sun's rays dead behind the smog. All we see are tints of the colour that's probably out there – not that I would know. It makes for a fantastic contrast, though, all those city buildings looking like paper cutouts against a 5 year olds watercolour sky. Yeah. A semi-retard who got too enthusiastic with his paintbrush.

I think too much. I like to wonder if, compared to me, mess that I am, Badou is a relatively uncomplicated person – and then i laugh, because this is what we live in, and no, you cannot be uncomplicated in this day and age. Blood stains on the carpet catch my eye as if to prove my point. Black and crusty, someone died in this hotel room once. No one special, just some low-rate gang member whose boss thought was getting too big for his spit-shined boots. I took care of him – of course i did! My job, isn't it. To get rid of those who are deemed unfit for life. Survival of the resourceful. And the filthy rich. Where's my lighter? My hand flattens out on the table, groping for the damn thing, almost knocking a glass on the ground. The gas flickers, and flares, the flame casting a meagre glow against my grime and nail polished fingertips. I don't remember the last time i was properly clean, it could have been around my 9th birthday. That was a good day. Kids and balloons, the sky is blue in my memories.

I stop remniscing about my past when ginger moves his head in my direction, the groggy eyes of the sleep deprived boring holes into the cigarette i am smoking. Well, hello, looks like somebody's hungry.  
I toss him the pack without speaking, and he grunts in acknowledgement. Good boy, remember your manners. I watch as his bony fingers grasp the packet, the flimsy card holding the sticks together crumpling under his hold. He pulls one out with his teeth, nicotine stained by years of abuse. His hair falls in a sweep, a curtain over his face, and I can't see his expression as he turns away. His arms. They're arched back, holding him up, his hands grasping the thin sheets, upsetting the smooth run of their course over the mattress – handfuls of the material, he's almost malaxing it, as though it were a stress reliever. Wait. Stressed? This guy is mellow out, so much so i find it aggravating. Normally.

Either way, i find myself having to turn the bedside light on – it's gotten dark in the room. Not that the cheap bulb does much. It flickers feebly, casting shadows and transforming the most innocuous things into dank receptacles of my paranoid thoughts. Fuck the couch – it looks like a dead dog from here. I ease myself into a sitting position on the side of the bed, farthest away from Badou – don't wanna disturb you, but i'm taking this half of the bed tonight. If you don't like it, there's a couch. Well. I don't say it quite like that but i think he gets the point either way, and he nods at me, his good eye flickering over my face, looking. I have to look away. I yawn, my jaw creaking as i open wide, as wide as i can,trying to spit the tiredness out of me, but no, it's here to stay. I rub my eyes, making it worse, so I figure: I might as well sleep. I push my boots off with my feet, kicking them to the middle of the floor, socks following suit. I throw myself back on the bed with a sigh, springs screaming on protest to the arrival of my weight – most unwelcome. This matress is lumpy, and i have to turn to my side to find any amount of comfort.

Can i turn off the light?

Another nod. I roll my eyes, exasperated at his unwillingness to communicate. Or maybe he's just in a mood. He's still looking out of the window, and even though i'd rather pull the blinds, i'll let him be, it's pretty comforting to have someone sitting up beside me as i try to sleep, smoke furling around his head, the only light in the room the orange cherry of his cigarette, glowing brighter everytime he pulls on it. My breathing rate relaxes, decreases, until i feel like i'm falling. I'm so tired. My eyes flutter for a second, and just before i finally greet the sleep i've waited for all day, i notice something, a slight gleam:

You're looking straight at me with an expression i've never seen you wear. What is it..?

_Will i keep going? Or should I leave it as it is, a short snippet between Badou and the girl?  
Oh, just because : I don't know who the girl is. I felt like writing something with someone and Badou without having to pick a chick from the manga, so basically, she's whoever you want her to be. She could even be you! Or not. I might be kidding. ANYWAYS, comment if you liked! Or if you didn't, that's your liberty too. Critique welcomed, obviously only if it's constructive. _

_This is my first time putting something written up public, so please...be gentle with me..._


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